WD Vault

The Nod at the End of the Straw

When my father was dying, I took joy in holding his water for him. He drank it through a straw.

I would hold the straw lightly, guided by his eyes and head nods to get it into his mouth exactly as he liked it, then he'd look up at me again and tell me with his speaking eyes and nod when he had had enough.

I felt privileged to do this. It was so simple, yet so concrete. Nourishing and necessary. It was lovely, silent communication. A look straight in the eye and trust.

Recently, Mom's needed help with her water bottle, and I am happy to do it. It feels familiar, bringing me right back to Dad, right there, right in his bed beside hers.

Mom's gestures are just the same; the eyes the nod, the guiding. What an intimate moment this is; as bonding as baby and bottle.

It is possible to see an entire lifespan in the nod at the end of a straw.

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